


when green meets blue

by hearmyvoice



Series: One More Wish AU [1]
Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017), PKNA - Paperinik New Adventures
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Based on a Tumblr Post, Donald Duck Deserves to be Happy, Donald Duck Has Issues, Donald Duck Has Secrets, Donald Duck Needs a Hug, Donald Duck is Paperinik, Donald Duck is the Duck Avenger, Episode: s03e02 Quack Pack!, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Donald Duck/Uno | One (Disney: PKNA), One More Wish AU, Wish Fulfillment, and he gets it, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:55:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23500093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearmyvoice/pseuds/hearmyvoice
Summary: "Your wish is my command. Shebooie!"Donald could have whatever he wanted with the genie's magic, but there was something he had always wanted to get. A framed photo appears on his houseboat, and someoneappears on his doorstep.
Relationships: Bentina Beakley & Donald Duck, Della Duck & Dewey Duck & Donald Duck & Huey Duck & Louie Duck & Scrooge McDuck & Webby Vanderquack, Della Duck & Donald Duck, Della Duck & Donald Duck & Scrooge McDuck, Della Duck & Uno | One (Disney: PKNA), Dewey Duck & Donald Duck & Huey Duck & Louie Duck & Webby Vanderquack, Donald Duck & Gene the Genie (Disney: DuckTales), Donald Duck & Goofy, Donald Duck & Launchpad McQuack, Donald Duck & Lyla Lay, Donald Duck & Lyla Lay & Uno | One (Disney: PKNA), Donald Duck & Scrooge McDuck, Donald Duck & Uno | One (Disney: PKNA), Donald Duck/Uno | One (Disney: PKNA), Lyla Lay & Uno | One (Disney: PKNA), Odin Eidolon & Lyla Lay
Series: One More Wish AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2114046
Comments: 66
Kudos: 278





	1. If I Could Begin To Be

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bamboozledeagle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bamboozledeagle/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having anything has never been so literal. One of the pros of magic, perhaps? The genie hadn't done anything yet, but he was already able to feel powerful with his family at his side.
> 
> And he hoped he could feel more powerful once when he made his wish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im very soft for this episode and i want to protect my baby boy. donald needs therapy and that vacation pretty much ):  
> i want to thank bamboozledeagle because [their post](https://bamboozledeagle.tumblr.com/post/614494285874806784/gene-you-have-one-more-wish-me-thinking-about) inspired me to write this shit, also the same donald au lol.

"You know you have one more wish, you could have _anything_."

Gene's words had been very clear in his ears as he held him by the shoulder, being able to witness the broad smile that outlined in his beak as he extended his arm, trying to demonstrate all the possibilities at his disposal with the magic of the lamp. Likewise, Donald was not a fool, he knew the limitations that the magic of geniuses could have.

Honestly, maybe that was what kept him so hesitant.

He could see Goofy in the distance. He was still lying on the ground, somehow the genie kept the scorpions away from him and had kept what looked like his _official_ merchandise, and he couldn't say he would be surprised if he was seeing Maxes; everything seemed to indicate that he would be a good father even before his son was born, a good-natured unlike him, not allowing himself to be guided by selfish desires and driven by the love between his son and he.

On the other side was his family, and when he thought of them, he was immediately aware of the gazes, completely different emotions that keep him grounded. Della and Scrooge wore supportive smiles, and how to blame them after having shamelessly stripped them of all their essence?

His kids, all _four_ , wore smiles that barely reached their eyes, but they looked so warm that they broke Donald because, sincerely, he would rather see those lovely ducklings upset with him for lying to them, for the sole purpose of keeping them in a fantasy of a perfect, normal family.

But Goofy was right, and he knew he should thank him as soon as he woke up. Adventures was what made his family normal. Even his mother and aunt Tillie used to accompany Scrooge, it was basically a family tradition.

He couldn't take all of that away for being the black sheep and wishing to eradicate the family.

Even Mrs. B, still with her severe expression and while checking his old friend, knew that she was waiting for his wish.

Did he feel pressured? Maybe, because an idea had popped into his mind but it had been long gone.

"Okay, Donnie. Whatever you ask for, you'll have our support” wow, he had really missed hearing that. His sister's warm and gentle voice had always had a calming effect in a way that not even he could understand, perhaps it was the nostalgic and reminiscent factor to their mother? The brightness of her gaze was dimly muted, and both twins knew they had a lot to talk about.

Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if Huey, Dewey, Louie, and even Webby were muttering things to each other. He had raised those triplets for eleven years, and the beautiful addition of the female duckling to the family was one more reason to his gray feathers and larger servings of black coffee, so he was already aware of many of their antics, or their vague attempts to maintain communication codes that he had practiced for years with Della; and frankly deserved them.

That they talked about him behind his back couldn't be new to him, but now he couldn't blame them for it.

“Ye deserve it, son; it’s tru’ tha’ this family can be a he’dache” and there was Scrooge; the old man giving him a smile that reminded him of those days of yesteryear when everything was fine and it was only Scrooge McDuck and the Duck Twins against the unimaginable and willingly ignoring the reproachful “hey!”s of his grand-nephews “if ye nid yer space, Ah think we can understand it.”

There was something in his gaze that Donald couldn't decipher, and that didn't stop him from feeling less strong. 

_He did not deserve this family_ , he thought listlessly; they were too forgiving for his liking. _Maybe he was the problem._

“Are you sure?” The genie was still around his shoulder at that moment, smiling patiently, waiting for the last wish of the lamp master, but he could not risk breaking the contact, no matter how amateur he was not. Maybe it was the second thing that kept him going.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Beakley picking up Goofy. His friend was still not regaining consciousness, but his breathing was steady and he kept a smile on his face, which must mean there was nothing to worry about. As if on cue, the merchandise was gone in an instant, as if it had never been there.

“Of course bro. Back on the moon…” Della stopped abruptly as she remembered the catchphrase of _his_ desire, and at her empty expression he couldn't laugh at the irony because that would be _shameless_ and because _he too had been a victim of Lunaris and—_ “I just thought of see my four boys happy. And I mean all four, Donald.”

Her voice was broken. By the time she had come closer, her metal leg ringing against gold and she had taken one of his hands in hers, he had already begun to feel his eyes burn and his sight blur.

He had really missed his sister. What was he thinking when he thought he could change it?

She had always been that way, ever since they were children, and putting aside her interest in the next adventure. When faced with a new change, especially the change in his voice, his sister had always been like this to take his hands, tell him how much she watched over his happiness, remind him of how much she loved him and allow him to cry on her shoulder. According to his sister and his uncle, until falling asleep.

"Whatever you ask for, however far-fetched it is, you'll always have your family to back you up." Winking at him, she silently thanked when Gene quietly pulled away from her twin to cradle him instantly.

In just an instant, Donald had gone from being the father of her boys to becoming the sensitive and shy duckling she remembered.

In just an instant, the twins had gone from proud adult parents to the wee bairns Scrooge remembered, when the orphan wound was still fresh. How, despite their few minutes apart, Della could take the role of the alpha twin.

"I'm really sorry, Dells." Donald's voice had grown hoarser, even his sister had trouble understanding the message, but when she did, she gently patted his back.

She preferred to ignore how her brother had cringed after hearing his voice again; and though it had been surprising to hear him with another during his desire — that if it was included in his fantasy, she feared for the answer — she preferred that raspy voice with which she had grown up.

"I know you didn't do it maliciously, Donald; I couldn't be mad at you for a long time even if I wanted to. Unless you deserve it.” Della smiled slyly when she heard her brother laugh; it was broken, but it was sincere and apologetic.

Same as him.

Though reluctant he turned away from his sister, rubbing his eyes to withdraw the tears that had had the decency not to flow. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the genie talking to his nephews, with Dewey speaking the most; and while Huey was more timid, Louie analyzed the lamp that he had dropped at some point.

Beakley and Webby kept the scorpions away. It didn't seem like an easy job but they seemed to have the situation under control. Goofy, still in the awkward position he was in by the treasure, had let out a snore.

He was fine.

For his part, Scrooge kept a distance from the twins, keeping a sympathetic smile. He wink at his nephew, saying the same to him.

If they both noticed the discomfort with which he cleared his throat, neither said anything.

But what could he wish for? Ever since he had the use of reason, he had lived typecast to adventures, and though he tried to escape from them, they always found a way to return to his life. He was Donald — Fauntleroy — Duck, and he was Scrooge McDuck's nephew, which could be both a blessing and a curse.

Yes, it had been relaxing not to venture into the unknown, he had never enjoyed a day without magic, archenemies, or near-death experiences, especially since his nephews were not involved in them; but his family was unhappy.

He couldn't bear to see his family unhappy.

At least not now. Because if he saw the adventures in a way that was normal, perhaps he had also _been_ normal?

Maybe a normal voice?

"Don't even think about it Donnie." Donald looked up when he realized he had thought aloud, his hand resting gingerly at the base of his throat. Despite her amused smile, Della was frowning and the brightness in her gaze had dimmed. “Your voice is unique just like you, and I don't want to have a commercial presenter as a brother.”

Even so, the duck managed to smile and exalt a small laugh, though it sounded a bit forced. He hadn't realized how that twisted his sister's smile.

“Come oan lad. Ah know th’re maw be somethin’ else.” Scrooge immediately took a place among the twins to wrap them in his shoulders, watching the triplets chat with Gene as they rummaged through the treasures, how Webby had no problem joining the conversation; which would be _normal_ if it wasn't because they still had scorpions surrounding them.

As if everything that happened was nothing more than his subconscious playing with him.

The warm smile that had invaded his uncle's face and the nostalgic one of his sister, Donald allowed himself to observe again the ducklings who, much to his regret and considering that he still had to apologize to them, did not seem to hold a grudge against him and instead had their beaming smiles of every day.

"There must be something you _always_ wanted to have," Della trailed off, stroking his knuckles in a way that felt too familiar. Perhaps there have been times in his life when his sister could become sweet when she wanted to, despite the multiple tantrums that could have occurred — they were still siblings, after all — but this seemed like a new facet.

Motherhood suited Della very well.

But in one way or another, it was the trigger Donald needed, again looking at the four children, who together had finally chosen to help Beakley with the scorpions while Louie fervently _cared_ for the lamp in the front pocket of his sweater. Dewey and Webby were the most excited about getting their daily dose of adrenaline back, but that didn't stop Huey from hitting some with his book while avoiding stingers as much as possible, or Louie suggesting one thing or another to his siblings. Regardless of the circumstances and the way their personalities collided, the four of them found a way and worked as a _team._

A team that held together despite the multiple adversities that arose on its way and found the strength to continue. Even when the issue of the Spear finally came to light, his nephews had remained united, and they had no trouble keeping Webby by their side and reintegrating her even as she made a plan for them to return to Scrooge. When they do not know if they will return from the Shadow War being Magica notoriously more powerful than any enemy they have faced.

Huey, Dewey and Louie (and Webby) had always managed to stay _together._

Scrooge and Della (and sometimes he) had accomplished the same, as if the eleven-year absence had never occurred. He didn't care if their ties had grown stronger while he was away — it wasn't the first time this had happened anyway, he was used to it.

He could easily be seen in a team in the company of José and Panchito, since they met in the cabana in their college days. But even if he had no difficulty venturing even with the bombastic but carefree attitudes of his companions reminding him of his sister, he had always detected more chemistry among the Latin birds. And while he loved Xandra and Kay K, for obvious reasons they weren't the friends he could invite over coffee or hang out no matter how much he wanted to see them again.

And he was sure that, even in pairs, his nephews had found a way to work together. Maybe he needed his own team to gradually delve into the dynamics of his family?

Yes, part of him disagreed one hundred percent. He had chosen to completely give up on adventures the instant he knew his sister had taken the Spear of Selene behind his back, but what else could he do when he couldn't even take a relaxing vacation? He missed spending time with the children, even if it was getting involved in one of their shenanigans; and after being ten years estranged from his uncle and eleven from his sister, he doubted he wanted to spend more time away from them — and now that he was holding them like a vice grip he feared they would fade again if he released them.

But he accepted it, he wanted to enter his family's definition of normalcy once again. Perhaps the first step was to get used to this conception, but he knew that he could not alone. He had always been able to count on their help after all, and he doubted that after so long they would stop.

He just hoped that Gene would agree.

"I'm ready to make my last wish," he snapped, making Della and Scrooge jump. Doubting he had stopped hugging them, patting their shoulders gently before approaching the genie, an assertive smile forming on his face as he finished paraphrasing the desire in his mind.

 _There_ was something he had always wanted to have.

"At your command, sir." Reverence might have been exaggerated, but being locked up for around two decades might be justification enough. Furthermore, the modest smile on his face demonstrated the patience he had had while he collapsed.

Fortunately Scrooge and his sister had focused on removing the scorpions from Goofy's overnight body, otherwise they would have considered their discretion in making the suspicious wish.

Who might suspect Donald Duck anyway?

* * *

“A picture?” Ending to hang the framed photograph, he did not allow his nephew's sarcastic comment to affect him — or at least show that it did not affect him — hearing him wince, along with the already recognized drumming that Dewey's webbed feet cause in the wood. “Did you spend your last wish on a stupid framed photo when I can easily make one on my cell phone?!”

Donald knew that in the blink of an eye he could reproach Louie for the vocabulary, but he knew his nephews well enough to know that his scolding would fall on deaf ears, smiling at the warm homecoming that is listening to the comments bathed in irony of his family. He heard Louie's phone flash in the background as he took the photo.

He didn't know how much he had missed that.

"You could have made infinite wishes, or become a genius yourself!" Louie was growling under his breath, but Donald had watched enough fantasy movies as a child to know that those wishes usually ended badly as tempting as they were, but that didn't fade the smile on his face.

After all, he was satisfied with his wish.

"I like it," and Huey, the sensitive Huey, seemed so happy now that everything was settled, so delighted with his _last_ wish that, well, it made him not have the heart not to object.

Besides that he was also in love with it.

"It’s _perfect”_ how could he not be when it included the whole family doing what they did best, which was to venture? It was amazing how quickly could change a person's mind if they wanted to; even he, who accepted the change weighed on him, was surprised.

It must be that a part of him was anxious about what would happen from now on that he had chosen to go into the unknown with them. Or maybe it was his subconscious playing with him. Again.

"Well Uncle Donald, you know we'd like to stay here, but we have to go; Mom proposed a game afternoon” Dewey sounded apologetic despite the seconds of silence, but still he could hear his sad smile and his body moving.

"Okay, you know the doors will always be open to you." He smiled at them over his shoulder. Maybe they weren't spending as much time in the houseboat as he would like, but that didn't stop him from wanting to remind them that that would always be their home and that they would always be welcome, no matter if they had a bad day or just wanted to hang out — which It was rare, but it didn't make it totally strange.

“Yes!” The triplets chanted happily, catching Donald off guard when they hugged him, the three pairs of arms encircling his waist, but he hadn't managed to reciprocate before webbed feet traversed the wooden floor, exiting the escape hatch before which Donald couldn't help but giggle.

He loved those boys, and as long as he had that perfect framed photo as part of his collection and his family continued to stay together — as it should have been eleven years ago — he would be fine.

_He was sure he didn't thank Goofy enough for his prompt service._

But before he could take another step, a soft knock on his door was heard, confusing him. After accompanying Goofy on his long journey back to Spoonerville, the last thing he expected was to receive visitors. Della would spend the rest of the day with the boys, Launchpad had taken his uncle to the Money Bin, and Beakley's visits were rare.

Honestly, now that he was alone, what he needed most was to go to the other side of the city, growling when they knocked again.

“I'm going!” Perhaps he raised his voice more than stipulated, but he couldn't help it. He was in a hurry and was not there to attend to anyone right now.

The strange detail is that he did not usually receive visitors except that it was his sister and his nephews, who never had the decency to knock. Perhaps the only exception were José and Panchito, but they were _too_ indiscreet.

“How can I help you?” He slammed the door open, his expression blank before the green-feathered duck in front of him. Trying not to feel overwhelmed by his tall stature, his groomed jet hair, and his sparkling emerald eyes. He was raising his fist, ready to knock once more.

Especially when they get wide and started scanning him with taut features. Needless to say, his shoulders did not tense. Suddenly he felt threatened.

"Hey! What is the big idea?!” He clenched his fists and grind his teeth. He really didn't have time for this.

He was about to slam the door when the other duck's hand stepped in, opening it with superhuman strength for someone who looked so… puny? Exalting apologies over and over again that did not anything but confused the sailor.

“Sorry, sorry! It's just that…” He inhaled and exhaled, his chest rising and falling apace, his body relaxing as if a burden was suddenly released from his shoulders, laughing sourly with a raspy voice but that revealed self-confidence “it has been years, but seeing you again Donald, it's as if all this time nothing had happened.”

His voice had broken, but that only increased the duck's bewilderment. That had served to partially deflate his anger, but that didn't stop him from feeling his blood boil. He was already wasting a lot of time. That a stranger knew his name was not strange when being the nephew of someone globally recognized as his uncle, but a very different thing is that it was exclaimed with so much trust.

“Excuse me, but do I know you?” And perhaps he sounded so confused that it must explain the incredulous expression of the man in front of him, as if a bucket of ice water had been thrown.

He laughed again, with the sole exception that he now sounded more forced, brushing a lock of hair from his face with a nervous smile at a look that tried not to fade like an old firefly — literally, being overshadowed by the rays of the sun that still hovered over Duckburg.

Perhaps his photographic memory was declining, but he was sure that if he had met someone with an appearance as attractive as the man in front of him, perhaps he would have noticed it. Yes, there was something about his gaze that was vaguely familiar, but he didn't like creating or creating himself hopes when there surely wasn't.

"You can't, you can't be serious Don," he looked so radiant that he would even feel bad about upsetting him, grinning sardonically, clearing his throat as he felt the tension in Donald's body, "it's me, Uno!"

The moment that name had been mentioned, those green irises glowing instantly, Donald felt his legs tremble, holding on to the door frame. He trembled in shock, feeling his eyes burn.

That was not what he had in mind when he made his wish, much less so quickly — at least, until he remembered who was in front of him.

That was not what he expected, but he could not say that he was not satisfied because it would be a vile lie.

"I'm back, Old Cape!" He sounded as impressed as he was, and it was then that he knew it was already _perfect_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is mostly a donald's pov, oops.  
> it came out just like my self-esteem: shitty.


	2. Half of What You Think of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trip back to the mansion is not the most comfortable for Donald, but knowing that he has the support of more than one person in the family is flattering.
> 
> He has many things to think about, but with his partner back by his side, he knows that everything will be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after a so long hiatus, i'm back with a new chapter. kudos to KnackSnacks who gave the good vibes so i could finish this thing. it was in my drafts for a long time, but between obtaining my first computer for online college and a being self-conscious about a long if things, i finally found the muse these days.
> 
> btw, after the first cut it has references/spoilers to timecrime (aka. the paperinik/doubleduck crossover comic) bc i just read it and i'm that weak.

Donald felt this could be one of the most uncomfortable rides of his life as an adventurer. Curled up in the seat and wrapped in seat belts, his gaze wandered around the plane.

Della was piloting and chatting with Launchpad, who sat in the adjacent seat — since when had the two of them become so close? — while Scrooge stood between them, serving as the lookout that clearly both pilots were failing.

Goofy was more discreet in the seats across from him. The children were huddled around the dog, bright eyes filled with curiosity as he told them the story behind each photo in his wallet. He could actually perceive the way they waited for a photo that included him to know the memory — possibly shameful — that it possessed.

But if he knew his friend like the back of his wing, Donald knew that those images, as well as Mickey's, were in the oldest part of his cellphone gallery, far below many photos of Max. It was not something that particularly offended the duck, he understood very well what it was like to be gushing over the photos of their respective proteges.

(Feeling watched, Goofy looked up for a moment as the four ducklings admired the photos he had taken during the Powerline’s concert years ago, appreciating the soft gaze his old friend had on the children, the same loving gaze that not only seen when he looks at his.

If he hadn't known Donald since they were both younger, he wouldn't have hesitated to think of him as the biological father of the kids. He could be the uncle, it's true, but having triplets under his care for ten years was worthy of admiration, especially when counting and accepting without hesitation one more girl.)

"You are pretty quiet."

But a British accent snapped both parents out of their reverie, causing Donald to discover Goofy's gaze on him for a second before continuing to tell stories, this time about a prom.

"Oh hello Mrs. B." Donald greeted the housekeeper as she sat next to him, surreptitiously glancing at the four children. Needless to say, he did it in a very strange way by being with the belts around him. A sad smile decorated his face.

On the other hand, Beakley's expression remained neutral, with a glint in her gaze that Donald didn't quite know how to describe; preferring to focus again on the kids to perceive the way her features softened.

"You know they're not upset, right?"

Donald looked up; he hadn't noticed the moment when he lowered it and, ignoring the damp burning that was beginning to appear in his eyes, he looked back at the housekeeper. Despite the severity that was commonly woven into her face, the sailor managed to perceive the small, almost ghostly smile on her face.

It was almost hilarious that they initially got along as well as oil and water. And look at them now, bonding like a pair of confidants.

"If I was them, I would be," he confessed feeling himself shrink in his seat, his feathers clinging to the seat’s leather as if he might rip it apart.

Actually, he could; that is, he had faced greater threats for a fifth of his life, an airplane seat would be a piece of cake.

"After all, I took away from them a part of their life that currently makes them happy," and it was not the same to give it up on your own free will than to have it disappear like sand between your fingers, he knows. And it was better to think about that than the anger that tickled through his veins, all against himself “just because I was looking for an idealization of normality worthy of a _sitcom._ ”

Involuntarily, Donald grunted the last word. Even if it had been fun to feel on a TV show, he knew that sooner or later his trick would end up being discovered because those kids were smarter than he liked; he also did not feel happy to lie to his family — and to know that it was not the only lie he has made, the house of cards that he created with so much effort would collapse. Maybe it was better to keep the low budget and the recorded laughs on a show.

Even if he kept thinking about the life he left behind, it didn't mean that _they were_ calm leaving theirs because what he was doing was more dangerous and it was certainly hypocritical and—

“Even if the method you used was unorthodox, I can see why you used it." Beakley's voice was the light that Donald's darkness needed, and he clung to it like a lifeline. "You love your family and you just want to see them safe and sound. I can say that I share the sentiment.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the gleam of amazement in Webby's eyes, leaning her elbows on an armrest as she listened to Goofy. He had never bothered to get to know the housekeeper better even if he lived on the pool at her house, and the fact that this was their longest talk planted something in his heart.

"And even if that fantasy were possible, I think we both know that they would not be happy with it” yes, leave the fantastic situations to cartoons and other kinds of programs for children to see “and it's incredible that I say this, but it seems like Scrooge knows what he does to keep them protected.”

There was a hint of disbelief in her voice, and the sailor stifled his laughter. To tell the truth, even he was surprised; in the adventures he engages in, he has not seen any of his nephews being pushed into a portal, shrunken, or into a block of magical ice.

It didn't hurt as much as it seemed.

“You're right.”

"Of course, I’m always right," and they both laughed, like a couple of old friends who haven't seen each other in years.

How things changed in just a few months.

"By the way," of course, they couldn't stay on the same topic of conversation, Donald himself didn't feel so comfortable talking about him, "what did you ask the genius for?"

"Oh," a smile crept in, and the duck wondered if the spy had noticed the instant his feathers turned scarlet, "I just asked for a small, big detail. You will see it arriving at the mansion.”

And oh, Donald won't be able to forget the happiness on Beakley's face at the sight of the family photograph. The photograph that included her.

One more lie.

* * *

The young duck's footsteps echoed across the silent 151st floor, one hand on his chin as he narrowed his eyes in a thoughtful and distant expression.

"Sooner or later, you'll make a mark on the ground, Old Cape," being pulled out of his thoughts by a small orb that appeared beside him, his reverberated voice playing with the superhero's nerves in an almost impossible way, "you've been like this since you returned from your mission in the 21st century, do you want to talk?”

But Uno was so worried, so nervous that Donald forgot that he was not a biological being but a machine. A _machine_ that acted, thought, and spoke in such a human way that it burned, that Donald wonders at what moment hearing that voice had become the most important part of his day-to-day life, prompting him to keep putting on his kevlar suit to go out on a new adventure from which he does not know if he will be able to return alive.

When had he been so lucky to meet Uno that the mere thought of something happening to him in the 21st century terrified him?

"I saw myself there," he murmured after a few seconds of silence, listening to the buzz of a chair appearing behind him and feeling a pair of hands supporting his shoulders with such care that it made him uneasy, sighing heavily as he removed his mask and his fingers fiddled with the texture, "apparently I'll be a secret agent in the future."

"Sorry to interrupt you PK, but…" Sure, Uno was concerned. He had foreseen temporal paradoxes before leaving with Lyla.

"It's all I know, he— _I_ didn't agree to tell more. You know, the current of space-time and all that paraphernalia” but his voice gave away his anguish, and a dull sound gave away the way he let his back hit the back of the chair “but…”

 _But_. There was always a _but_.

"The Ducklair Tower wasn't there." No, his voice hadn't cracked, and Donald fought the urge to rip the cowl with the voice modulator off because it was the only thing that kept his identity _secret_ when he's Paperinik.

Silently, Uno made his companion's sailor suit appear, letting another buzz roar in the newly silent secret floor.

"Something is going to happen, Uno, something is going to happen to _you_ and I don't know what it is." He squeezed his hands, applying so much force that his trembling knuckles paled more.

"It's probably not that bad, Hero." But even if Uno was an AI, he managed to hear the uncertainty in his own modulated voice. Odin Eidolon peered into the recess of his database.

Donald dropped the mask onto his lap, slowly rubbing his temples. He looked exasperated, he felt terrified.

Paperinik had never been terrified, but under that mask, he was still Donald Duck, and Donald Duck had to act on his fear more than once if he wanted to continue his life.

"He said he missed you," and maybe that's what dismayed the superhero since his return to the 20th century, staring at the ceiling and feeling smaller than usual.

He knew that the seconds were scarce before they found themselves back home, the skyscraper that was the Ducklair Tower would cease to be a non-existent point to remain the base of Channel 00 as well as the defender of the city’s; but even so… he— Donald from the future— _Double Duck_ had used them to dedicate a few words to the artificial intelligence, even if he had been very specific in that he would not shut up facts.

Perhaps that was what kept Donald uncertain, not Paperinik, and it is that the very idea that something was happening with Uno unsettles him.

For the first time, Uno does not know what to say to lift the spirits of his partner, not even a one-liner. But it was impossible, the artificial intelligences did not waver, not even one as advanced as he — modesty aside. That did little to reassure Donald.

It could be the first time that something had alerted both the hero and the civilian.

"Do you really think something will happen, PK?" The AI questioned empathetically as a pair of hands helped the superhero remove his suit. His system did not allow him to _believe_ , Uno was _logical_ ; and while the Pangea project proved that even he could be wrong, it was further proof of the influence that the biological duck has had on him.

But Uno didn't believe, he _knew_ something had to happen for Odin to emerge, especially considering Donald couldn't connect the dots and figure out what took him a few minutes.

"I don't know," Donald growled, pulling on his sailor shirt with the help of Uno's arms — changing in front of the AI was already absolutely normal for Donald after months of doing it, often too hasty to even notice.

Still, that only demonstrated the confidence both partners had. So why did Uno feel he was lying to the sailor by hiding the truth about the billionaire businessman of the XXIII century? Why couldn't he tell him that he would never leave him alone — or how impossible it would be to get rid of him, even though clearly neither of them wanted that?

Why did the thought of losing Uno, and not by aging, terrify Donald so much?

* * *

That conversation felt very distant to the retired hero. But now that he was aware of the reason for his doubts, he wanted nothing more than to have a hint of tachyon that would allow him to travel to the moment when Uno was deactivated to avoid it.

And maybe hit Everett, who knows. He would literally have all the time in the world at his complete disposal.

But Uno was there, face to face. And Donald couldn't believe it, _he barely_ could do it, but the last thing he wanted was to blink and have the intelligence— android in front of him disappear into thin air.

"H-How?" He whispered, feeling his voice harsher than usual. He was supposed to go to the abandoned Ducklair Tower to see the result of his wish. Instead, a robot perfectly built to match the appearance of an ordinary mallard stood in the middle of his door.

At this, Uno laughed. Donald didn't know how to feel; his voice did not have those reverberations that made it robotic, but one that could be heard in any duck that no one could suspect, the absence of walls causing no echoes that were familiar to the sailor to be heard.

It generated a strange feeling in his chest, but he didn't want it to fade away.

"The first piece of information that comes to my system is to be reactivated in the Tower "Uno confesses, and for some reason, he does not dare to say that among these are Donald's memories, those that he had managed to record and save in his database because well, those were personal “but this body had been in the planning for… a long time.”

His voice becomes distant as well as his gaze, and the sailor does not dare to inquire; the mere idea that his best friend had this project planned without him even knowing since before he was deactivated, left a knot in the pit of his stomach. And he prefers to focus on the lump that rested rather in his throat and left him shaking.

"It's still a bit unstable, but what else could I do? I've missed you, Old Cape…” And hearing that old nickname again felt like a lunge, and Donald couldn't help but laugh sadly as he felt moisture running down his cheeks and the edges of his beak, rushing into the android's arms before he could even prepare himself, backing out of reflex.

As Donald cradled his face against the opposite chest, concentrating on the hum that was so familiar and strange at the same time, Uno couldn't help but smile wistfully as his arms wrapped around the smaller duck's body. The AI was already aware of the size of his old companion, but now that he could see it directly, he looked much more fragile than he might have thought.

The plumage felt soft, and though he could perceive the knots and some messy feathers, the delicacy of those that grew again could not be missed. Uno was no stranger to the ducks’ molting, he had witnessed some from his partner back in the tower, but he had never realized how silky they could be.

Donald's sailor suit was now a gloomy black, had the occasional wrinkle, and exuded a faint stench of sea salt, sand, and dirt. He wasn't sure how he could identify the smells, but it must be his vast knowledge.

But the duck was trembling, sobbing in a shaky, broken voice. Or a voice more broken than usual. Not that he was critical.

"I missed you too," he confessed after a few seconds of silence, tentatively breaking the hug as he wiped his eyes. Only then could he notice that the eye bags had intensified, looking darker than he could remember “more than you think, old friend.”

And even though One couldn't age, he recognized the symbolism behind the Peking duck's words and was beyond grateful for it.

—

“So… this is the new Donald Duck?" His wing scanned one of the framed photographs on the boathouse’s stairs, and being able to feel was a feeling he didn't want to lose now.

And he was not able to stop smiling — not that he wanted to — when he appreciated the affectionate happiness on his partner's face when he kept the nephews he had heard so much about tucked in, detecting a newspaper that read _blizzard_ in its headline.

It seemed like yesterday that Donald walked into the secret story, with a smile more radiant than he could remember, shouting from the rooftops that he would be an uncle. What he would give to go back to those times when everything was simpler and their only concern was facing Evronians and time pirates.

"It's true that a lot has changed since you left." Rubbing his arm in a nervous habit, Donald refused to leave his partner's side. Occasionally he could be heard sobbing bitterly, betraying that he had cried previously, "I would have been fascinated you were here, you would have experienced as much as I have."

However, the android had years of knowing the sailor to know that, despite the nuance that had colored his voice, no signals or double meanings were detected that directly blamed him. Donald was better than that, and they both knew it was neither their fault that he found himself disconnected and cut off from his side when he had no say in the matter.

But the _would_ doesn't exist. The damage had already been done and the wounds were already scarred, and with the presence of Uno Donald felt as if those scars were being treated despite being carved into his skin for ten years. It was as if the android was able to heal them almost automatically, and he was more than grateful for that little detail.

The bond between them was that strong.

"But I'm here now," he murmured, hugging his partner by the shoulder. And the sensation was so new that it was surprising to both of them, yet it didn't bother either of them, Uno's hand settling as if it had been made to be there — and maybe it was. After all, the body was built by Uno himself. “And I have no intention of leaving again…”

And it's not that the smallest duck wanted to, chuckling softly as he leaned his body against Uno's, an almost comical sight given the difference in height.

“I am glad to hear that.”

Uno's gaze continued to roam the photos, realizing that neither Scrooge nor Della was in them — except for a framed photo, prior to the hatching of his friend's nephews.

"He's Huey," Donald spoke suddenly, pointing to the red-clad triplet, and in an instant, the android had already registered that data, "he's Dewey, and he's Louie. Is more like their nicknames, but it is how they usually identify themselves.”

The intelligence said nothing, but he knew he didn't need words to show how grateful he was that he took the trouble to help him identify the triplets. It was easier and faster to search the system for them, but it was not as detailed as hearing it from his best friend and taking into account the way his voice softened when talking about them.

"And it seems that the family has grown," he added, pointing to the new family photo, seeing that in addition to Donald, the children, Scrooge and Della — who now had a leg made entirely of metal, were a girl and two ducks, the latter stout.

When the other duck followed his sight he made an affirming sound, gently taking his arm to lead him in front of the photo.

"Yes, she is my honorary niece Webby." He pointed to the duckling, and of course, Uno smirked. The hero had always had a soft spot for children, he could leave him one on his care and it wouldn't take him long to spoil them “and they are Launchpad and Mrs. B. She may look a bit strict, but she's nice; something tells me you two will get along very well.”

Of course, it hadn't taken long for his tone to turn to mock, and though the android didn't fully understand what he meant, he couldn't help but laugh with him. Like the old inside jokes they both used to have, and the fact that they will escalate now that they were together again filled him with satisfaction in an inexplicable way.

"In that case, I'm looking forward to meeting them, Old Cape."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someone shake me, i started playing save the light three days ago and i'm about to finish it already.


	3. I Could Do About Anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Della's feelings are such a mess, especially the ones regarding her brother. It doesn't help when she faces someone that seems to have a story with Donald bigger than it looks like.

Della was able to see all angles, she was sure of that since she was a child. She couldn't remember if it was a skill that she had always had or that she developed as she grew up, but it was undeniable that it was there. Also, there were other possibilities that the sight of it offered her, and that was to read people, particularly her brother.

Of course, there were non-believers (including Donald himself) who claimed otherwise, and there were others who argued that it was because they were twins that Della was able to know what he thought, and that was partially true. Because while there were times when they found themselves thinking the same thing, the truth was that both also worked individually, and Donald himself was a different world from her.

A world that was commonly incomprehensible to many, including her. Not exactly because of the way her brother speaks, but because of the way he acts. It was not a secret that they were completely opposite, even Della had heard such comments since they were in high school, and she knew that he did as well because of the erratic way in which his behavior changed despite remaining like the typical shy boy from the corner.

Perhaps that was why she had sensed the discomfort of her twin throughout the journey, even if she was a few kilometers from him and _even_ if she turned her back to him, as if it were a gentle breeze brushing her feathers and fiddling with her clothes. Her gaze remained focused on the sky, a path that she recognized on the way and that she recognized back; however, a part of her was focused on the conversations that were going on behind her. Goofy chatted with the children, Max's name popping over and over with such a familiar fondness that it left an emptiness in the pilot's stomach,

(Especially since it reminded her of her brother while talking about the triplets, but it didn't make sense: would Goofy have a child?

Her brother always got on better with him than her, but she had always known him as a loving guy, and surely she would have known of a child before she had taken the Spear of Selene; particularly what will his wife be like? She must be very gallant if she, again, had managed to conquer Goofy of all people.

Which, in turn, made her wonder about Mickey and Minnie, because so far the only clue she has had since her return has been that melon that Donald had with him on the island and—)

on the other hand, and now that she had stopped talking to LP, she could hear her brother having a _pleasant_ conversation with Agent— Beakley. And though Della couldn't figure out what they were talking about, her hands were shaking on the wheel. Because Donald's desire kept tickling her mind.

Specifically, on his reason for asking it.

_Not having to worry about the family being **captured** or **lost.**_

"Della." Her uncle's calloused hands on hers made her blink, and she returned to focus on the flight — much to the extent that Launchpad took care of it to her apparent distraction, though she did let her uncle know that she was listening to him with a gesture, "are ye okay? Ye've bin very… quiet since we got on the plane."

In fact? No. At least, not quite. Lost, lost. Lost. The word poked at her brain incessantly, and it frustrated her.

Della cherished having discussed the Spear's topic with the children, and having her uncle's support despite yelling at each other — it was to be expected, though, with their tempers. However, she acknowledged that she still owed her twin a conversation; not only about the rift that she had formed between them a decade ago, but also about the time when _he_ was the one who was on the moon and her apparent disinterest when he told her through that bizarre melon. Her brother had always been someone who refused to talk, particularly if it involved his feelings, but he had even refused to speak after the invasion and it made her stomach clench.

Lost.

Della knew she was lost even when she returned to her home. From the terrible second impression with her uncle to the relationship with her kids. She had no idea how to be a mother, she had barely read a thing or two even when she was waiting for the triplets because her thoughts were more focused on the world behind that stardust she saw through her window after every adventure, and when she landed on the Moon her priority had been to repair the rocket and return to Earth. Instead, her brother had read all the books on parenting the moment he discovered that she was waiting, and even she could claim that he had been made from other sources that she was still unaware of to date.

Her mind had always been in the clouds and that had led her to be stranded in space without being able to develop her motherhood. But Donald had always been on Earth, being the father _and_ mother of _her_ sons; But having wished Gene for a normal and perfect family, she had a feeling that perhaps it could be something more.

"Yeah, yeah, Uncle Scrooge," she said in a distant voice; though she knew she had been slow to respond, her uncle's concerned expression confirmed it once she returned to concentrating enough on the vast stage in front of her, “but I need to think a few things. Launchpad, would you mind continuing the flight to the mansion?"

Of course, the other driver was an incarnate sunbeam, and he only responded with a thumbs up and a smile without reciting any words or questions before taking the wheel again.

But no matter which direction her mind took, they all came to the same conclusion: she should speak to Donald _soon_.

* * *

It was with that thought in mind that she headed for the houseboat, feeling her shoulders grow heavier as she approached. The triplets and Webby were watching TV, and she had literally seen Beakley in the kitchen not long ago. Scrooge had retired to his office with Isabella's journal and Duckworth was away, doing ghost things; ergo, there was no one who could interrupt her during her conversation with her self-proclaimed best friend, but that did little to relax her and, otherwise, made her tenser. Not just because it wasn't a secret that Donald was more emotional, the lamp incident had proved it to her, but because with their infamous temperaments it was a lousy combination in case the situation got out of control, what if …?

When she was least aware of it, her metal foot stepped onto the hatch that gave her access to the boat. And even though she knew it was more sensible to go to the door and knock, especially remembering how strict her brother had been about his privacy from their distant adolescence — that, on second thought, it made no sense when it came to Donald because: what could he hide from everyone that required a dress code that never existed? —, the truth was that she was very impatient to discuss this issue to walk the deck only to go to the bow and also wait to be attended.

No. If she was going to do this she was going to do it _now_ , and with that conviction, she raised the hatch.

"Donald, listen. I know I'm coming unannounced, but you and I have to…" Down the stairs, her words died in her throat when she saw the aforementioned accompanied by… a strange-looking duck, who had also become tense at her presence. They appeared to be looking at a framed photo, but the abrupt way in which they parted, as if they had been caught doing something wrong, did not go unnoticed.

This puzzled Della much more than expected, perhaps due to the fact that...

"Dumbella! I told you to knock.” Donald was really calm, when he used to be on the alert for a visit from any stranger. If that in itself was strange, he just looked a bit annoyed at her sudden entrance.

"Don't worry, D," however, his features seemed to relax when said stranger addressed him, approaching to murmur something that caused him to stifle a laugh. That definitely _didn't_ twist something in his stomach.

Her brother looked relaxed, off guard, more cheerful than she could remember, and it took the pilot out of focus on the reasons that brought her to the houseboat in the first place. Sure, she remembered seeing him like this during junior high and high school with Mickey and Goofy, or in college with José and Panchito; but right now there was something in his gaze that she was unable to define.

Particularly, there was the fact that her brother used to chat about the antics he did with his friends all the time, and the visits did not wait when they were in the mansion on an almost daily basis, not to mention the multiple sleepovers that her little brother did per week.

In one way or another, they had adopted a small place under their roof, allowing her to know and grow fond of them, even if they got on better with her twin.

But this guy? She didn't recall Donald mentioning an outrageously dressed mallard, not even in a slip; there were no antecedents, there were no visits. Still, his calm in the face of this unfamiliar new face tickled the back of her neck, and she didn't like it.

"Er…" She cleared his throat, and it seemed that they too had been pigeonholed into their little bubble. There was also the look that this guy gave her at all times, as if he was watching her and reproaching her for some reason she did not know. "Donnie? Don't think I'm planned to be rude, but who is _he_?"

Having to fight her willpower not to point him out because Donald would scold her for the rudeness, she instead pointed her eyes at him, and the frown of her strange companion didn't soften - at least, not with her. That did less to reassure her, especially considering the way her brother's eyebrow arched in confusion, at least until he met his partner's gaze and his face lit up in an unusual way, and it lit a small sparkle in the pilot's gaze.

"Oh, where are my manners?" he exclaimed with a small blush blurring the feathers of his cheeks, and her desire to make fun of him increased but she was held back when she noticed that Donald was really sorry and her conversation with him continued in a pendulum.

"Easy, Ol-Don," he cleared his throat, letting his hand rest on the sailor's shoulder for a second, though of course, it would be enough for him to relax, before addressing her again with a serious face, all traces of complicity that he seems to have with her twin fading away.

And judging by the way his eyes widened, he noticed it too.

"Uno Ducklair, Donald's old friend. Nice to meet you.” His voice had certainly turned strict, enveloping in a dark aura that mystified Della as he shook her hand, with a smile that might look real if not for her keen eyesight.

She wasn't sure if the other duck in the residence would have noticed, but it seemed to be eyeing the blissful Uno with an indecipherable expression. Most disconcerting was the way he tried to hide his outstretched arm from her brother, as if he were trying to protect him.

But from who?

"Erm, I'm... Della Duck, Donald's sister. I'm sorry for the… intrusion, but I didn't know my brother was expecting visits" and she was really sorry, considering they both seemed to be in the middle of a chat when she arrived "nice to meet you."

Before shaking her hand with the mallard's, she sighing aloud at the grasp.

"Wow, you really have a strong hand, huh?" Laughing nervously, she heard her brother reproach her in the background.

* * *

But Uno knew.

Uno knew he wouldn't find himself in the Ducklair Tower again until years later as Odin Eidolon, when Donald and his adventures as Paperinik, as well as the friends and enemies they had made along the way, were nothing more than a vague memory in the abandoned lair. However, there he was: the tower reviving while he was reactivated and his data was transferred, the memories that he had kept hidden from his creator becoming overwhelming during the moments in which he became accustomed again to the environment that was the hiding place that once witnessed the tommyrot of two partners who saved the city and saw Anxieties in their spare time.

Uno knew that the first image in his database after that memorabilia was Donald's face, cheerful and full of life, always telling bad jokes as he faced Evronians and the misadventures of daily life. The glint in his gaze as he thought of the future with his nibling, who would later become nephews. And Uno knew that he should appreciate that look again, being almost instantaneously that he looked for his old fellow in the system while his arms were in charge of giving the last details to the body that had begun with so much care before being deactivated.

He had missed him, he had to confess. He was not ignorant that many of the machines of the time of his partner of crime were incapable of feeling any emotion; but after meeting Lyla and himself learning about them after his friend, that stereotype had been erased from his data or, in Donald's words, _t_ _hrown out the window._

As he polished the finishing touches to what would be the new recipient of his data, he hadn't gone unnoticed the adding of some Gizmoduck and Darkwing Duck as saviors of the city. And though he found the absence of Paperinik alarming, that concern was forgotten the second he found the whereabouts of said vigilante.

In just a few minutes, an Artificial Intelligence had given way to an android that was heading to the McDuck Manor. That, while he took in every detail, feel, and color that the city was from a new perspective.

But as an AI, Uno's data was collected, and he was able to remember.

And he remembered every afternoon they watched every episode of Anxieties, new or old, while they both tried to disguise the effect that Saxony Starbright had on them and made a few comments about the plots and absurd twists that the writers made even if they used to be on the edge of the seat at such absurd twists like the hypocrites that they were.

He remembered every mission he did alongside Paperinik, being his eyes and ears in the tower as the hero took care of the casual villains and the Evronians in his umpteenth futile attempt to increase his army, as both would joke about it later while he checked the little scrapes and bruises between his feathers.

But he also remembered those wounds that were not generated by the occupational hazards, those occasions when Donald had to work harder and not smarter due to the adventures he faced every day in the company of his sister and his uncle. Those moments when he limped into the secret apartment, refusing to be checked to retire to put on the suit of his second job despite the reprimands he gave while Donald was dressing or when the situation was resolved, when the hero was too mentally and physically exhausted to fight the worrying intelligence.

When Donald was on the brink of hypothermia from some magical ice he was on.

When he came in exhaling a cocoa scent and trailing bright-colored plumage, his sensors detecting sensitive peck marks under his own feather coat, particularly in the cranial area.

Or each time he came in with more and more scars, his clothes shattered, bald spots, and even obvious bruises. Many times because of some crazy adventure, other times because he fought someone at school, the character of his partner added to the physical ability that he possessed from his self-induced training.

When he arrived depressed due to an argument with family members, because he refused to go out with them to the next hidden temple, because of his bad luck or even his cousin's getting in the way of each meeting, or because he was still not understood metaphorically and literally by his family or a third party.

For his family.

For his family.

For his _family._

Uno did not know how, but until he discovered that Della was waiting even before Donald, the occasions in which he had seen him truly smile, at least with his family, could be easily counted and that because he had collected them, and on the other hand he really stood out when he was with friends, including him.

He really didn't want to feel some things unless they involved Donald, and while this technically involved his partner, he also knew the fondness he had for his family, so his confusion at his reaction was not only valid, but justifiable.

"Uno?" He blinked, and they knew what a relief it was for the sailor to mutter that name again even if there were no words in between, and even blinking out of his thoughts was so strange and wonderful to him, "Is everything okay?"

It was then that he recognized how nervous Della was in front of him, and tried not to feel joy at it because this was his best friend's sister and while he wanted her to fear and more, he did not want to get into an argument with Donald after a decade of estrangement and a lot of time to recover.

"Yes, yes, my apologies," and though he wasn't really sorry, it was gratifying to see Della tense enough because that was the least he feared every time Donald had to leave Duckburg with _them_. "I'm not that used to physical contact."

And well, that wasn't entirely a lie. Donald has been the one who has gotten him used to it, and that because he used to be very affectionate back in the tower, and getting used to the body was also new to him, but he did not know how much he had changed in recent years if the first thing he had done when he saw him was to keep clung.

But Della was watching them warily, and somehow both knew what the next question would be before it exited the pilot's peak:

"And how did you meet?"

"During the time you were in flight school," Donald began almost instantly, finally intervening between his sister and Uno even if he tried his best not to make it weirder than it already was, "I was looking for a part-time job and coincidentally Uncle Scrooge had just bought the Ducklair Tower so I started working there. Uno is... one of the sons of Everett Ducklair, the previous owner of the tower" Donald had to accept that his lying skills had rusted over the years — after raising the triplets on honesty, but the least he could do and he was grateful for was dancing around the truth because he had become the custodian of the Tower while his sister soared through the skies in search of her pilot's license, as uncomfortable as it was for him to even mention the name of his old friend's master's name.

But he also didn't want to know her reaction to knowing how involved he was with artificial intelligences, aliens, droids, and time travels. Especially when it was all over and it had been a lot to him at the time.

"Hmm, well Uncle Scrooge said you changed a lot while I was in school, that you had become more sensitive or something, and more alert," she commented out of nowhere and with a thoughtful expression, and Donald blinked after hearing someone snort, rolling his eyes after recognizing Uno's giggle even though a smile was visible on the edge of his beak, because if he had heard that several times during his time as a janitor and superhero, many times for teasing or bothering him, the truth was that he missed the teasing a lot — coming from his partner — because, unlike the ones he had heard on multiple occasions, they were not malicious. Besides the fact that facing bad boys had indeed helped his temper during his studies "it must have been for that. I guess I must thank you… Uno."

Still, neither of them missed the discomfort on Della's face, or the way she fiddled with her scarf, and her smile became strained as she spoke more.

Maybe it was because of the fact that Donald had secret friends? Because of the looks _Uno_ gave her behind the back of his brother? Was it some older sister instinct that hadn't been around since high school coming to life and yelling at her to protect her brother from Uno at all costs?

And that was the hardest part, because Donald didn't look at all overwhelmed or alert by the mallard's presence. Indeed, she felt her twin relaxed in a way that only happened when he was with José and Panchito, and that had been while they were in college.

"I was just telling Uno to introduce him to the rest of the family, that you came in was a mere coincidence," Donald commented, with a smile so bright it puzzled Della, when was the last time you saw him so happy about something that surrounded him?

But she couldn't question it too much when Donald's face turned strange, blinking as his expression changed.

"What brings you here anyway? Not that it bothers me!" He clarified quickly, grinning nervously, and Della could have sworn the third duck's face turned warmer, and that was something she could share: she had also missed seeing Donald turn into the same nervous wreck as to when they were young adults. The duck cleared his throat and crossed both arms behind his back, “it's just, well, the only times you come unannounced are when you can't sleep. Now that I think about it, you seemed to want to tell me something… is everything okay?"

As he looked thoughtfully, he acknowledged that sooner or later he would have to talk to his sister about his desire and what happened next was more than evident. However, he did not expect it to happen _so_ soon, and Donald preferred to wait once the situation with Uno was over and he had had enough time to think about what to say to her.

Unconsciously, that little consideration from the sailor had been enough for Della to remember what had dragged her into the boat in the first place, it can't be that she has forgotten so quickly!

However, the pilot couldn't help but wonder if now was the right time, especially seeing how calm it was in comparison to the cave. Actually, it was as if he had never had a breakdown in the first place.

She wanted to preserve that for a few more moments. Furthermore, she would never have known how to start that conversation even if she could chat with her brother at the time.

"It's not that important, it can wait." She shrugged, maintaining a serene expression that she now felt more sincere. If Donald noticed that tiny detail, he didn't say anything. "Don't you mind if I keep you company to the mansion? If anyone had the audacity to put up with my brother's plover head, it's worth knowing."

She olympically ignored her twin's reproach in favor of sneering at him, feeling satisfied when the mallard giggled despite the faint reddish tinge in the sailor's feathers.

"I don't see why not," Uno commented. And even though he still looked relatively tense, his shoulders looked more relaxed when he side hugged Donald. Della could not gloat over that small victory given the strange glint in Uno's eyes. It was a bit inhuman, though the pilot didn't want to jump to baseless conclusions, but they seemed to be on the alert, "but I'd rather wait: the _plover head_ was thinking of wait and respond with the whole family present, he doesn't want to leave anything unsolved."

Unlike her, there seemed to be an iota of homesickness when he used the same nickname to poke fun at Donald, and though he rolled his eyes this time, an exhausted smile took place.

* * *

Della flinched when Donald suddenly raised his voice, his voice raspier with the effort.

"Family, can you come over for a second?!" Even Uno smiled, wincing at the future state of the sailor's throat. "I want you to meet someone!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's ignore that this was supposed to be the past year. sorry for the delay !!
> 
> looking at it on the bright side, i decided to make this a series! there are many things that i want to touch and they will not last four chapters. maybe it will 2 or 3 fics, or one-shots, that are in charge of giving us this mini-plot, but who knows, inspiration is a double-edged sword 8)
> 
> and yeah della's showing sibling jealousy.


End file.
